The List
by Frost on Maples
Summary: Maria Hill keeps a list.


**The List **

Author: Frost on Maples

_**Author's Notes:**_ I don't own the Avengers. Seriously. Just ask the folks at Marvel/Disney.

This story is a standalone, but does very loosely connect with my Avengers stories, especially _Sons of Hamsters and Minions of Unusual Numbers_ and _Salt_.

Many thanks to the great bunch at the Beta Branch. It would have been much more difficult to get back into the writing groove without their encouragement and support.

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Maria Hill keeps a list.

It's in a tiny notebook, coded, in her purse. The idea of a purse was foreign and seemed inefficient to her when she started in the private sector, but it has become essential. She knows better than to commit certain things to her computer, her phone. There are some things she needs to keep private, unhackable.

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_page 2 - Erica Chin_

_- found four hours after Triskelion_

_- aged twenty-two_

_- survived by parents Kevin and Melanie, brother James, fiancé Jason Murphy_

_- top graduate of her high school, college and SHIELD classes_

_- brown belt, training for the Boston Marathon_

_- on her first assignment, two weeks observe & report in private army of Chinese warlord Lao Chong_

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A phone rings, and for a minute, she wonders who it belongs to: it sounds like the cheap burner phone it is, totally foreign to the high tech wonders of Stark Industries offices. Belatedly, she remembers and reaches for her purse, rummages around to find it on the bottom.

"Hello?"

An unmistakeable voice, with only a name: "Anne D'Amato."

"Acknowledged." She knows he hears in that single word: Thank-you. I have this covered.

She dutifully takes the cheap phone apart, to be disposed of in multiple places, and makes a mental note to take another out of the hiding spot under the floorboards of her closet. A quick search on the internet (routed through three proxy servers, old habits die hard) yields the information she needs. Reaching into her purse, she takes out a small, old-fashioned agenda, also coded, and checks multiple schedules.

Three brief phone calls, and then she arranges a day off. Ms Potts understands. It is the only consideration Maria asked for when she applied for the job.

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_page 5- Pierre Garneau_

_- found two days after Triskelion_

_- aged fifty-eight_

_- survived by wife Doris, three children, one grandchild_

_- loved tea, always had an assortment in his locker_

_- on his last assignment before retirement from the field, investigating mob connections in Marseilles_

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She waits outside, across the street, and watches people over a cup of coffee. She's early: out of habit, she has already been inside to check the building and walked a four block perimeter check despite the fact that all should be safe.

Should be safe.

She will never make that assumption again.

"Agent…Ms. Hill." She turns to see her three fellow conspirators from that day carefully standing a few feet away, making sure to get her attention before getting close. "It's good to see you again."

"Thank-you, Captain Rogers," she says. The corner of her mouth twitches: Sam Wilson sported bruises for a week after tapping her on the shoulder, and Rogers discovered that while she couldn't do lasting harm to him, she could make him…uncomfortable. She suspects that she won't hear the end of that…ever. "I wish this was under better circumstances."

"Who?" Romanoff asks quietly.

"Anne D'Amato."

Maria tactfully ignores how Romanoff's face becomes carefully expressionless as she steps back. Rogers frowns, trying to place the name. Sam Wilson leans forward, eyes intent on Romanoff. "You knew her?"

There is a hesitation before Romanoff speaks. "I knew her husband. He was killed on the helicarrier at New York, when Loki was aboard." She frowns at Maria. "How?"

"She returned to duty just before the fall of Triskelion Base, and was sent on a simple courier run." She shrugs, puzzled. "She should have been a low-priority target. My source says she made it to one of the message drops - she knew something was wrong, and went to ground." She shakes her head, looks away. "My source couldn't find out when…it happened. Just when the body was being sent back."

Rogers checks his watch, squares his shoulders with a solemn expression. "It's time."

Together, they cross the street to the small chapel.

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_page 11- Patricia Flanagan_

_- found three days after Triskelion_

_- aged thirty-four_

_- orphan, survived by fiancé Jeremy Christian_

_- photographic memory, legendary for accuracy in field reports, published writer working on her second novel_

_- on assignment undercover as secretary for a new IRA organizer_

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The eulogy is a compassionate speech from a woman accompanied by four children. On the way to the podium, the speaker handed a two year old to another woman: the child clings to her as the other three cluster around. There are sad smiles when the woman comments jokingly about making sure there was room at her own dining table whenever she heard that Anne was making a pot roast - 'so that they wouldn't go to McDonald's after trying to eat the pot roast.' There are other tales, of family gatherings, of the mutual support from the group of widows and widowers that make their circle of friends, the debate when Anne decided to return to work.

There is a pause as the woman scans the crowd and spots the quartet at the back. Her face grows cold as she says, "As Paul Junior's godmother, I want say this: he is now part of my family. His mother has joined his father, along with my husband and many others, to watch over us from heaven. He will be loved, cared for, and safe. His parents are gone, but he is not an orphan. Leave him with me and mine to let him heal and grow."

They quietly leave before the service ends, pausing only to sign the guest book. Maria looks back to see the two year old watching them from over the shoulder of his keeper: his eyes are uncannily like those in the photo on top of the closed casket. She bows her head, and leaves.

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_page 16- Randhir Malik_

_- found five days after Triskelion_

_- aged twenty-nine_

_- orphan, no known relationships_

_- hid communications via microdot in origami birds & animals of various handmade papers 'for his niece'_

_- on his third year of deep undercover in New Delhi_

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They sit together for a coffee before going their separate ways. Rogers asks politely how her work is going, Wilson teases her about going easy on the other people at the company ("Make sure there's a freezer full of ice packs for the poor fools that don't wear bells around you"). Romanoff says nothing, examining the intricacies of the foam on her latte.

As they prepare to go their separate ways, Rogers says hopefully, "It's been two months. Maybe this will be the last one." Wilson shrugs with a gloomy face, while Romanoff looks down to pull out her keys.

"Natasha," Maria says hesitantly. Romanoff doesn't look up. "We all agreed that it had to be done." The grip on the car keys whitens knuckles. "There was no time to warn them." She hesitantly reaches out, but can't quite bring herself to offer the reassurance she herself needs badly. "Barton is one of the best. He'll be fine." Romanoff looks up, and she steps back from the look in the assassin's eyes. Nothing more can be said after that flash of pain and guilt.

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_page 19- Devon Toivonen_

_- found twelve days after Triskelion_

_- aged forty_

_- widower, survived by two children, Suvi (age 6), Christopher (age 4), sister Helen_

_- played violin, constantly sketched people and surroundings_

_- on a one month assignment undercover with the Manila orchestra while it toured_

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She goes back to her quiet apartment. All is as it should be when she walks the perimeter, and the alarm goes off obediently as she opens the door. After clearing the place properly (she will never fully trust an alarm system, she knows too many ways around them), she pulls a beer out of the fridge and sits on the couch, ignoring the news.

The notebook is already showing signs of wear - she goes through it every day. Carefully, she flips to a fresh page, picks up her pen.

_page 27- Anne D'Amato_

_- found sixty-two days after Triskelion_

_- aged thirty-three_

_- predeceased by parents, grandparents and husband Paul D'Amato, no siblings_

_- survived by son Paul D'Amato Jr., age 2 _

_- husband was also SHIELD agent, former commander of Alpha Bravo team_

_- son currently in the care of godmother Mary Ramirez _

_- first mission after maternal and compassionate leave - courier run to Zagreb_

She pauses to browse the other pages, gathering her thoughts as she takes another sip.

There is a duty, an obligation owed when you betray your own. She picks up her pen, continues.

The list is growing.

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_**Author's Note:**_ As I mentioned at the beginning, this fic does tie in with my Avengers stories. For those interested, the reading order would be: _Sons of Hamsters and Minions of Unusual Numbers_, _Partners_, _Negative Space_, _Serenade_, _Salt_, _Lessons_, and _The List_.


End file.
